


The Society

by beneathawesternsky



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2018-11-22 05:12:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11373270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beneathawesternsky/pseuds/beneathawesternsky
Summary: Hermione Granger has just broken up with Ron Weasley, whose repeat infidelity has left her feeling broken, unwanted, and used. In an effort to get her to move on, Parvati Patil brings Hermione into a secret society that engages in anonymous sex. In Wizarding England, mores on sexuality are a bit more conservative than in the Muggle world, and Hermione feels tired of feeling unwanted. In the shadow of all of her friends who have gotten married and started having children, Hermione enters the world of the Erotes Society, and becomes the obsession of Lucius Malfoy, its leader. Hermione must navigate this underground community while simultaneously keeping her life as normal as possible. Things are complicated when Draco Malfoy becomes an acquaintance, and it calls into question her feelings for both men. Is it just sex between them? Or is it more? [Lucius x Hermione] and [Draco x Hermione](a bit of a puff piece, but it was inspired by the movie Eyes Wide Shut)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick word about this fic: It's a little exploratory. I'm seeing what I can do with the idea, and if people like it at all. And yes, I know it's complete trash, probably hard to fathom, but I hope it's well written enough that you can suspend some disbelief and enjoy an "Eyes Wide Shut" type adventure.
> 
> Also, I have kept some characters alive, as I have incredibly intense denial, and have had since The Order of the Phoenix.
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments, as they will greatly aid in my knowledge of whether I should continue or stop.

The black parchment clutched in her hands had been there for almost five minutes. Her slender fingers shook as she ran them over the back of the envelope, over the wax seal that stood out against the stark color of the parchment. Inlaid in gold was a naked, winged man, Greek in style, who Hermione recognized as one of the Erotes, the gods of love and sexual desire. Had she really gotten this far? Was this really happening?

She knew she should throw the envelope into the fireplace of her vast Diagon Alley flat, but something stayed her hand. After all, she’d felt the urge to get herself this far, why stop now?

Holding her breath, the cracked the seal, and opened the letter. On the black parchment, written in gold, were a very few choicely scrawled words:

Erotes Society

9 PM

Tonight

Cameron House, Loch Lomond

Scotland

Hermione let out the breath she had been holding. She had an hour to change her mind. And maybe that was why the group sent the location out so late—so people had less time to back out. But maybe she was projecting her own fears.

And what had brought her to this point? Had life with Ron not been satisfying? She had lied to herself for years and said that yes, Ron was enough. Ron and she had been through hell together, and they were going to grow old together. But all of that had changed when he drunkenly slept with Romilda Vane. And Padme Patil. And even Pansy Parkinson.

The last one had been enough for Hermione to boot him out of her flat for good. She had been naïve enough to forgive him for Romilda and Padme. At least they weren’t the fanatical Slytherin type who thought people like Hermione were filthy. ( _Moodblood_ , her mind projected, and quickly she stuffed the thought back down in her mind, chastising herself for allowing the word to surface.)

Ron begged and pleaded, but with the support of Ginny, Luna, and even Harry (though he still remained friends with Ron), Hermione bucked up the courage and set out on her own. 

And there she was, at age twenty-one, most of her friends already married with children on the way, and she was on a list of people who met regularly for clandestine sexual encounters.

 _Orgies_ , if she was being brutally honest with herself. The word made her scrunch her face up in mortification. Why had she let Parvati talk her into this? Her fellow Gryffindor classmate had been on the list for six months. Parvati joyfully rejected the standard in the Wizarding community of the United Kingdom that by the time you were twenty-one, you should be at least engaged to someone. Merlin forbid you be single, and daresay open to more than one sexual partner.

So, with the stigma of monogamy, chastity and prudence permeating Wizarding society, the Erotes Society had been meeting for years. How long, Hermione had no idea. This wasn’t exactly in her line of studies. She suspected there were a tome or two out there in someone’s private library that gave a definitive history on the community. But as an upwardly mobile employee in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, everything in Hermione’s body screamed at her. This could not be legal. Could it? She certainly had never encountered any laws saying otherwise.

But her career could be seriously jeopardized by being found out, being seen in this society. That was enough for Hermione. She shook her head, and began tearing up the letter into smaller pieces, and as she cocked her hand back to chuck them into the fire, it blazed green with Floo fire, and Hermione stepped back in shock, clutching the wand that rested in her robes. 

Out of her fireplace stepped a robed, dark haired girl with a wry expression on her face. She too held an opened, black envelope. She tutted her disapproval when she saw the torn pieces of parchment in Hermione’s hand.

“I knew it,” Parvati said, snatching the pieces from Hermione’s hand, and tossing them into the fire for her. “I told you I’m making you go,” she said, holding her own, un-torn letter in the air.

“Parvati, this is stupid,” Hermione said, turning away, and sitting on her plush, flax colored couch that stood out against the dark, hard wood floors. “This is desperate, it’s…”

“It’s not desperate,” Parvati said, walking to stand in front of her friend. “It’s fun. It’s sex. That’s it.”

Hermione’s face was impassive. Parvati sat next to Hermione, her black robes still drawn tightly around her. She reached out, and placed a hand on Hermione’s knee, allowing Hermione a small peek below—Parvati leg was completely bare under the cloak. 

“Muggles don’t live like we do. They’re more… free about this kind of stuff,” she said, shaking her head, and took her hand back to readjust her robe. “This group, Hermione, it’s been meeting for years. And if it were so bad, don’t you think it would have been exposed years ago? It’s just… you’re young, you’re free of Ron—“

Hermione shot Parvati an incredulous look.

“Ok, ok,” Parvati conceded. “Not free from him, but… free to explore yourself, your life. Your sexuality. Hermione, seeing you that way after Ron left, it was heartbreaking.”

“I just don’t think this is the answer,” Hermione said, her face flushing with the thought of a stranger’s hands on her, while at the same time bristling at the thought of someone else’s hands on Ron.

“It may not be the answer to your problem in the long run. But I think you should try it once. _Then_ make up your mind.” Parvati considered Hermione a moment. “Do you have a problem with this? I mean, from a personal standpoint? Or is it just the fear of what others expect of you?”

Hermione chewed her lip a moment, and admitted in defeat, “the latter.”

Parvati’s face lit up. “There! Then let’s get you dressed.”

“Dressed?” Hermione asked, her voice filling with concern.

“Yes, dummy, dressed.” Parvati stood, and opened her robe to reveal black lingerie sumptuously wrapped around her brown skin. “You can’t go there in your Muggle clothes. Or pretty much any clothes at all,” she added with a wicked grin. 

“Parvati, I don’t…” Hermione said, her face now completely hot. “I don’t have that kind of stuff.”

Parvati began rifling through the interior pockets of her own black robe. “I know. That’s why I got you this.” Parvati pulled out a mess of straps and lace, and Hermione had no idea what it even was. Certainly not enough to cover her.

“That!?” Hermione exclaimed, looking at the dusty, almost white-pink bits of lace Parvati held.

“It will fit you, I promise. I bewitched it to,” Parvati said, eyeing her handiwork. “But I think I do a fairly good job of picking out size, so it may not need it.”

Without a word, Parvati shuffled Hermione off the couch, and into her bedroom, where she started to tug at the hemline of her shirt.

“I can dress myself, Parvati,” Hermione said, in defeat.

“Not in this, you can’t,” Parvati said, holding up the nude-colored undergarments. “Hermione. I lived with you for six years in the dormitories. There’s nothing of yours I haven’t seen, and I know there’s nothing of _mine_ you haven’t seen.”

With reluctance, Hermione began shucking off pieces of clothing, and rifling through the small pile of lace on her bed. Parvati handed her one piece at a time, and helped her get into the pieces. They all fit her perfectly, not a pinch or pull anywhere, and felt like silk against her skin. 

When it was all said and done, and Parvati stepped back to look at her handiwork, she nodded her approval. Hermione’s pale skin glowed against the blush lingerie, the bra, the garter, the panties, the nude stockings with the seam up the back. 

“This is a bit much, Parvati,” Hermione said. “I look ridiculous.” She wrapped her arms around her midsection.

“No you don’t,” Parvati said dismissively, still looking Hermione over. “Now we have to do something about that hair. It’s too recognizable if we don’t do something about it. We only have about forty-five minutes before we have to Apparate onto the grounds.”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I think I’m just going to stay.”

Parvati set her mouth in a thin line, and grabbed Hermione’s arms firmly. “Hermione, just try it once. I swear… this has been so liberating for me. Once a week, I do this, I get it out of my system, and I come home happy, content. My confidence at work is just through the roof. I won’t say this is the only reason, but it helps.”

Hermione was still quiet.

“Ok, I know _you_ don’t need anonymous sex to give you a confidence boost at work, but think of it this way: you can move on from Ron in a safe, controlled environment. Everyone’s very respectful of boundaries. The second you say no, they back off. It’s really just… I don’t know, Hermione, it’s a very respectful, encouraging environment to be in. It’s not as tawdry as I’m sure you think.”

Hermione’s face softened a bit. Parvati continued, and decided to divulge one secret she kenw. “Neville goes.” Hermione’s eyes widened. “And you’ve seen how he’s doing in Herbology. The Ministry is about to promote him to the head of the Herbology Research Department. You’ve seen the change in him. Haven’t you ever wondered why he’s doing so well?”

Hermione blinked. “Parvati, I don’t think I could ever have sex with Neville,” she said flatly.

Parvati laughed. “Don’t think of it as the _person_ you’re having sex with. This is all about pleasure, sex… not about feeling or emotion. I think you’d know Neville if he came up to you, but you can always say no. It’s your first time, anyway, someone else is bound to… speak up. 

Hermione shook her head. “Fine,” she said, and Parvati jumped a little with happiness.

Within the next half hour, Parvati had smoothed Hermione’s hair straight so it laid flat across her back in brown cascades, with the help of a half a tub of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion. Without letting Hermione change her mind, Parvati quickly threw Hermione’s cloak on over her, helped her into a pair of nude pumps, and affixed a partial mask to her face before putting the hood over her head.

Parvati extended her hand, and Hermione took it. “Side-along Apparition. So we both show up at the same place, and same time.” Parvati nodded assuringly.

With the tell-tale pressing sensation over her entire body, Hermione soon landed steadily on thick, lush grass that was bathed deep emerald in the moonlight. She was back in Scotland, overlooking a lake, and a vast estate that cast its reflection in the pitch-black water.

Other hooded figures were Apparating as well, and paid no mind to Parvati and Hermione. Nothing set them apart. Each of them were clad in dark robes, with partial masks over their eyes. Some talked casually to each other. Clearly, they weren’t completely anonymous to each other. Hermione’s stomach filled with ice at this thought, but knew that the cult of silence surrounding the Erotes Society was sacred to them. The reason they were able to conduct themselves clandestinely for so long was because they prided themselves on their secrecy.

As if walking in a dream, Hermione barely noticed that her feet had taken her up to the front steps of the castle, and she and Parvati fell in line with the others. They walked down corridors lit with enchanted torches and enchanted chandeliers. The paintings on the wall struck Hermione a moment—they weren’t charmed to move like wizarding paintings. They were Muggle paintings.

“Whose house is this?” Hermione asked, Parvati at her side. “These are Muggle paintings.”

Parvati smiled. “They choose a different location every time. Sometimes it’s the home of a wizard, sometimes it’s a vacant Muggle mansion, sometimes it’s even a historical site for tourists.” Parvati seemed to enjoy this knowledge.

“Every time is a little different. You’ll see. But remember—no names tonight, ok?”

And soon she did take notice of what Parvati meant by “you’ll see”, Hermione’s expectations did not match what she saw in the great hall. Witches and wizards, with their hoods drawn, took canapés and drinks served on platters by men in white tuxedos. They talked like they would at any gala, or party, or ball. No one was stripping down, no one was engaging in sex on a floor of wall-to-wall pillows. This wasn’t a scene from Caligula’s court.

Parvati promptly grabbed two glasses of champagne off a silver platter that was passing by, and handed one to Hermione. 

“Drink this one fast, and the rest of them slowly. We’ve got to get you to a baseline of calm,” she said, taking a sip of her own.

Hermione didn’t need telling twice. She took two generous gulps in one go. She was about to ask about the wait staff when a man in a robe approached Parvati. His skin was even darker than Parvati’s, nearly chocolate, and his pouty lips gave him away immediately. 

He sauntered up to Parvati, and wrapped his hands around her robed waist, kissing her neck possessively. Parvati smiled at this gesture, and pulled back to look at who Hermione knew to be Blaise Zabini, the Slytherin classmate who had chummed up with Draco Malfoy all those years.

Hermione’s stomach turned. How could Parvati allow herself to be touched by _him_?

“My nymph,” he said, pulling back, and looking her over. “Might I be so lucky as to have you tonight?”

Parvati gave a smile that played only at the corners of her mouth. “Apollo, dear, you know that it’s far too early for me to say yes or no.” She sighed. “That would make it, what, three in a row? Where is the fairness in that?”

Blaise, or rather _Apollo_ , chuckled, and drew himself down to kiss Parvati lightly on the lips. “One way or another, little nymph.” He turned his attention to Hermione. Her heart rate quickened, and she hoped she would not be immediately recognized with her sleek hair under her hood, and her partial mask covering her eyes.

“I was wondering when you’d bring someone in,” he said. His eyes seemed to sparkle as he looked at what he could see of Hermione. “Does she have a name yet?”

Parvati shook her head. “She will tonight. Have you seen him?”

Hermione’s mind raced. _Him_ who?

Blaise shook his head. “I’ll find him and tell him we have a Naming tonight.”

Parvati nodded in understanding, and Blaise left quickly, weaving through the crowd and disappearing.

“Par—What haven’t you told me about this? _Naming_? I thought there weren’t supposed to be any names.” Hermione thought seriously of breaking for the door.

“Hermione, no one uses a real name, but we have pseudonyms. Blaise,” she lowered her voice, so none would hear, “is Apollo. I’m Nymph. You’ll get a name too, tonight, and one of the council will offer himself to you. You can decline, but they’re meant to welcome the newcomers. They can guide you through the first time.”

“I don’t need guiding, I’ve _had_ a first time,” Hermione hissed.

“Not like this, you haven’t,” Parvati said seriously. “They need to teach you rules, boundaries, and they need to help you integrate into the group. But like I said—consent is huge here. Nothing happens that you don’t want to.”

Hermione swallowed the lump that had been growing in her throat. She’d come this far. She plotted the exits, but knew there were too many wizards and witches to make her way around without making too much of a scene.

“What’s a _Naming_ … like?” Hermione asked.

Parvati sighed and smiled. “They’ll ask you some questions. The leader will choose your name. And one of the council will make an offer, and you’ll accept, or if you deny, then another will offer, and so on and so forth. It was amazing, _really_.” Parvati’s wistful look on her face reassured Hermione.

“Do you know who your… _first_ … was?”

Parvati drank the rest of her champagne, and lifted Hermione’s up to her mouth so she would finish. As Hermione drank, Parvati spoke. “I’m really not supposed to say.” She was silent a moment. “Lupin,” she said, so low Hermione thought she’d imagined it. 

“Wh—“ Hermione sputtered. “Rem—He’s in Erotes? But Nym…” Hermione struggled not to use their names. “He’s married! How could he?” 

Parvati smiled and shrugged. “His wife’s in the council too,” she said. “They’re _that_ type of couple.”

“Are there any other couples who do this?”

Parvati nodded. “Or who _did_. The leader’s divorce caused a little… static in the group. His wife wanted to keep coming, staying on as a council member, but a unanimous vote ousted her from the upper ranks, and she’s been absent ever since.”

“That hardly seems fair,” Hermione said, grabbing another glass of champagne as a tuxedoed waiter passed her. Momentarily, Hermione tried to think about who in Wizarding England had been divorced lately, but could not immediately come to a conclusion. 

Parvati grabbed her own, and looked around the crowd to see if anyone was listening in. All of them were too engrossed in their own conversations to take notice.

“It is when you compromise the secrecy of the Society, and when your extra-marital activities _go beyond Saturday nights_ ,” her words hung in the air, weighted with meaning. “Lots of taboos in the Wizarding community don’t exist here, but this Society isn’t supposed to affect your normal life. It’s not supposed to change how you interact in the Wizarding world.”

Hermione mulled this over a moment. She was starting to understand that though the Society had liberal views on sexuality, they seemed to adhere to a sort of code of conduct, which Hermione could understand in a way.

“Do you know who the Leader is?” Hermione asked, and before Parvati had a chance to answer, a loud knocking noise interrupted her, causing the murmur of conversation to die down, and all grew silent. The gilded double door opposite the hall, nearly eighteen feet tall, opened, and in walked a cadre of hooded figures, their white half-masks intricately detailed, reminding Hermione of the masks of the eighteenth century French court. 

Hermione’s stomach hitched when she saw who she assumed was the Leader, dressed in his matching black robe, but his mask was black, in contrast to the white masks the council wore.

They came to the center of the room, where a mosaic, red and gold marble tile circle stood out against the white marble floor of the rest of the hall. The members of the society all took their cue, and backed off of the circle, giving enough room for the council to form a half-circle behind the Leader.

“There is a newcomer amongst us tonight,” his voice rang out, clear and cold. That voice was like a cold hand gripping her heart. She knew that voice, but she didn’t want to believe it was who she thought it was. “Come forward.”

Parvati straightened up, and put her hand on Hermione’s back, leading her forward. When they got to the edge of the circle, one of the society members grabbed the glasses of champagne that both the girls were holding. Parvati stopped at the border, and pushed Hermione forward. She nearly stumbled, her legs turning to jelly, and her heels hindering her walking. The leader held his and out, and beckoned her forward.

Hermione’s heart pounded in her ears, and she came to stand at arm’s length from the Leader. He began circling her like a predator. All were silent.

“Who speaks for you here?” he asked.

Hermione heard Parvati’s voice. “I do,” she said, drawing the Leader’s attention a moment. 

“Nymph has brought us a new pledge. Tell us,” he stopped in front of Hermione and looked down at her, a full head shorter than he was, “Why are you here, girl?” 

“I…” Hermione stammered. She had no idea. Why was she here? For a moment, Ron’s infidelity fled her mind, and she thought about Disapparating right then and there, but something inside her stayed her hand. The sight of Ron between Padme’s legs, the sight of Ron pressing Romilda against a wall, and the sight of Pansy kneeling before a seated Ron made her blood boil. 

“I’m tired of feeling the way I do,” Hermione said.

The Leader stopped his circling a moment, and paused at Hermione’s back. “Go on,” he purred.

“I’m tired of feeling unwanted. I’m tired of infidelity. I’m tired of feeling like I’m not enough.” Hermione’s composure nearly failed, but she refused to break down in front of all of these masked witches and wizards, some of whom she knew she may be sleeping with soon enough.

“You’re tired of not feeling like you have any power over your own life. Your own body,” the Leader stated, rounding on Hermione, stopping in front of her, barely inches from her. He said this so low that only the two of them heard it.

Hermione’s heart rate picked up. She was sure now she knew who he was. Why wasn’t she running? She felt so stupid—Blaise was here, of course there were other Slytherins. But she hadn’t expected a former _Death Eater_. Still, her truth laid bare in front of all the others stayed her hand.

“Yes,” she said. He smiled wickedly, and drew his hands up to the fasten of her cloak. Hermione flinched away from his touch. His steel blue eyes shone through his mask, challenging her.

“This is how it’s done, love,” he said, too familiar in Hermione’s opinion. “We’ve all done it.”

When he found no more protest, he unclasped her cloak, which fell to the floor, exposing her slender frame in her nude lace lingerie. 

He backed up from Hermione, and continued his circle around her, looking at every inch of her exposed flesh. Hermione expected jeers or some kind of reaction from the crowd, but they stayed respectfully quiet.

He backed up, and addressed the crowd. “Should we accept this new pledge?”

A murmur of assent from the crowd broke the silence.

“Very well,” he said, and stood behind her, his hand making contact with her waist. “I name this pledge _Persephone_.

Yet another murmur came from the crowd, and Hermione looked around her to see hooded figures talking quietly to themselves. Some of them smiled, some of them gaped. What would her name matter? 

The Leader spoke over the crowd. “Persephone needs a tutor in our ways. Who will volunteer?"

Hermione listened a moment for someone to speak up. But none did. Her heart hammered—why were they silent? What would happen if no one would speak for her? Did that mean she would have to leave? 

“None shall take this pledge?” His voice sounded playful, taunting almost. Hermione was missing something, she knew in her core.

“Then I shall take this pledge, unless there are any objections,” he said, pausing so briefly, Hermione was sure he already knew there would be none.

With her mouth agape, the Leader took Hermione’s hand, and addressed the crowd. “The night is yours,” he said, and they all began to mingle, finding partners for the evening. Hermione watched as pairs of two, three, and even a few pairs of four, walked off in different directions, and began disappearing through hallways and doors to the many private quarters that peppered the great estate.

Hermione looked around for Parvati, but could not pick her out from the crowd of black robes. She felt a sense of panic as the Leader’s broad hand gripped hers firmly but gently, and began to tug her back to his attention.

“Now, Persephone, let’s get you to someplace more comfortable than this cold hall,” he said, and without waiting for her reply, he pulled her along with him, up a winding flight of stairs and down a long corridor.

When her senses came back to her, Hermione yanked her hand from the enigmatic Leader’s, and she shot him a dangerous look. “I’ll go _nowhere_ with you.”

“But my dear Persephone, you don’t even know me, how can you object already,” he said, tauntingly.

“I know who you are under that mask,” she said, drawing her arms around her bare waist. “I would rather sleep with a chimera.”

He closed the distance between them, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor of the hall, and placed his hands on her upper arms, and held her firmly.

“Who I am under this mask means nothing. None has spoken for you, so you are mine for the night. You’ve been given a name, and now you’re one of us.” 

Hermione stayed put. She shook so much, she was sure her anger was coming off her in waves.

“I am not yours, _Malfoy_ ,” she said, spitting his name at him, knowing she was breaking a rule. This seemed to enliven him, and he pulled her to him quickly, cutting her off with his lips pressed against her. With her arms crossed around her waist, Hermione had difficulty resisting him, but resist she did. But in her resistance, she still was struck by how warm, soft and exploratory his kiss was.

A spark within her enjoyed it, and it disgusted her.

“No names, dear, or I am afraid I’ll have to start your education with a hard lesson.”

“I thought consent was _big here_ ,” Hermione spat.

Lucius Malfoy chuckled. “Oh it is, dear. This is an education you’ll be begging for.”

The two were at an impasse. 

Malfoy leaned down and crooned into her ear. “Forget who I am under this mask. Forget the horrible things I’ve done, to you, to your friends—I assure you, I _know_ they are horrible—and let me show you how to appreciate your body. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? No one is going to force you.” Lucius backed up from Hermione, lowered his hood so his mane of white hair showed, and walked backwards towards the room at the end of the hall. 

Hermione looked at the self-assured former Death Eater, and a sickness in the pit of her stomach grew. It felt almost as if she were looking in on herself from the outside and couldn’t recognize who she was, standing there nearly naked in lingerie that probably cost a thousand pounds in total, if she converted galleons to Muggle money.

It was enough to snap Hermione back to her senses. She wanted freedom from her pain at losing Ron, but not like this. Not by crawling into bed with a snake.

“I want nothing to do with you people,” she said, and started walking down the hallway, ready to Disapparate when she reached the grounds. 

Hermione could practically see his smile in his voice as he called out to her back, “You’re one of us now,” he called. “It’s not that easy. When you’re ready, though, Persephone, I’ll be waiting.”

Hermione kicked off her nude pumps, and snapped them up under her arm. She ran through the great hall, and snatched her cloak as she ran, Disapparating the second her feet touched the grass. After she reached her flat, she threw her shoes and cloak to the ground and stormed off to her bedroom, where she stood shaking and clenching her fists for thirty straight minutes.

She wasn’t sure what she was angry at. Lucius Malfoy, for offering to be her first within the Society, or herself, and for wanting it just a little bit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments and kudos! It really helps, knowing people have been into where I'm going so far. Your comments really fuel my creative fire, so thank you for that! I do have a third chapter halfway completed, but I won't rush this chapter because I want it to be amazing. I have a few Grown Up Responsibilities these next few days, but rest assured, an update of epic proportions will be coming this next week.
> 
> I really would love to hear more comments and thoughts. Hope you all are having a great weekend.

Six days after Hermione had stormed out of Cameron House in Loch Lomond, she still seethed about it. At her desk in the Ministry of Magic, Hermione remained irritable and easily distracted. She had resorted to tonics from St. Mungo’s for her near constant headaches. They got to be so bad that she very nearly considered going home for the day, but her sense of duty prevented her from doing so.

So, she sighed as she signed a form she had been working on, and charmed it to fold itself into a paper airplane, to be sent to Kingsley’s office. She sighed, and returned to reading reports of magical law breaking, signing off on fines and correspondence between offices. Hermione usually loathed this kind of work, though it was a necessary evil in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but today she had no energy to devote to hating the tedium of Ministry work.

She was so lost in her thoughts about Saturday night that she barely noticed her name being called to her. She rubbed at her eyes, and it wasn’t until the fourth time her name had been called that she realized Kingsley Shacklebolt stood before her, a look of concern playing on his face.

“You alright, Hermione?” he asked, his dark eyes narrowing at the sight of Hermione shrunken the way she was.

“Yes, Minister,” she said, and sat up straighter. “Headache’s all.”

“’Minister’…” Kingsley grumbled. “When am I going to get you to start calling me Kingsley?”

Hermione smiled tiredly. “It’s only ‘Minister’ at work, sir. That’s my rule.”

Kingsley nodded and smirked. “We’ll have to agree to disagree.” His eyes sparkled a moment.

Hermione looked at her employer patiently. For Kingsley to come to Hermione’s desk on a Friday morning, it meant that he needed something. The Minister of Magic did not often pay social calls to his subordinates. 

Kingsley sighed. “Well, I’ll get right to it then,” he said, not wishing to delay the inevitable any longer. “I’ve got a case for you. I know your workload has been a bit dull lately, and this… promises to be anything but that.”

Hermione didn’t like the sound of that. “Oh?” she asked, dutifully. “What have you got for me?”

“I’ve offered it to others on this floor, I promise,” Kingsley said, bolstering his case. “No one else would take it because of the… clientele. 

Hermione’s stomach flipped. “Who is it, Kingsley?”

Kingsley sighed. “The Malfoys. Or rather, their company.”

“What?” Hermione shouted. Immediately she regretted her volume, but narrowed her eyes at Kingsley. “And you thought _I_ would be a suitable case worker?”

“Actually, Hermione, yes,” Kingsley said, drawing himself up, ever the impressive figure in his midnight blue robes. “Malfoy Magical Technologies is looking to expand into a new Muggle technology and research, and seeing as you are my best worker here in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and you _also_ happen to be Muggle born, you would be the best person to steer this ship.”

Hermione brought her fingers to the bridge of her nose and pinched. This headache was probably going to turn into a migraine very soon.

She wanted nothing more than to reject Kingsley then and there. The idea that she would have to face that snake again repulsed her. The way he’d prowled around her almost a week ago made her skin crawl. Why in Merlin’s name had she even agreed to go? She would be mortified if she ever had to see him in person.

Still. Hermione was a model employee, and wanted to rise in the ranks of the Ministry. She had hopes that one day she might be the Minister, but that was a long way away. But she wouldn’t get there if she weren’t a team player. Normally she was, but now? This was a trial like she hadn’t faced since she was eighteen, and she was chasing Horcruxes across England.

“What’s the technology?” Hermione asked, removing her hand from her face, and looking at Kingsley through bleary eyes.

“Mobile Telephones,” Kingsley said, stilted.

Hermione laughed weakly. “Kingsley, the Wizarding world hasn’t even brought in corded Muggle telephones. Going straight to cellular telephones?” She shook her head.

Kingsley was silent a moment, and Hermione realized he probably didn’t know the difference between corded and cellular phones. “Well, the Malfoys have reasoning there. They’re better able to explain. Which they actually will be doing today, so you need to look sharp.”

“T-today?” Hermione said, scooting her chair back abruptly.

“Yes, I’m sorry I couldn’t delay them any further. It took me the week to get around to asking everyone else, that they won’t be put off any longer.”

Hermione might not have had the same reaction last week, before she knew that Lucius Malfoy headed the clandestine Erotes Society. The Malfoys had been reintegrated back into the Wizarding community through great pains. The Malfoys had made reparations to Hogwarts, and had spearheaded many philanthropic efforts. Hermione knew it was all hot air, but still, they were still fixtures of Wizarding society. She had encountered Draco a handful of times since Voldemort’s defeat, and though he hadn’t been downright rude, he had been standoffish and cold. Considering his past, this was a considerable improvement.

And the Malfoys had certainly stopped groaning on about “purity” and that nonsense, at least in public. Hermione suspected they probably still held their prejudices, but kept them to themselves.

But that was just the Malfoys in society in general. Now it was different. Now she was involved.

“Kingsley,” Hermione said, standing, “I haven’t been able to even read the case.” She smoothed the skirt of her dress down, suddenly worried that her cream, silk brocade dress wasn’t suitable work attire.

Kingsley raised his hands reassuringly. “That’s fine, Hermione, they just wanted to meet with their case worker so they could explain their ideas. This is routine. You’ve done this dozens of times before.”

Hermione ran her hand over her plaited hair in defeat.

“How long do I have until they’re here?” Hermione asked, trying to remain calm.

“Within the hour I’d say,” Kingsley said, his eyes full with his apology.

Hermione didn’t know what to do with herself, so she rested her fingertips on her forehead. They shook only slightly. “Uh,” she started. “Ok, I need some time to get ready then. I’ll be in the conference room in an hour.” She started to walk away, not bothering to be dismissed by Kingsley. She was so caught up in herself that Kingsley had to stop her.

“Hermione,” Kingsley called to the dazed girl walking towards the break room.

Hermione turned, the color of her face pale. “Yes?”

“I won’t forget that you’re doing this,” he said. “I know you’re an ambitious girl.”

This gave Hermione some small comfort, and she upturned the corners of her mouth in what she assumed might pass for a smile. She had other things to be thinking about now, rather than her own upward mobility within the Ministry. 

* * *

 

Hermione paced up and down the hallways surrounding the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. After several minutes of this, to steady her hands, Hermione entered the staff workroom, where she made tea with a manic fury that she had no idea she possessed. Hermione made quick, but sloppy-for-her work of setting her kettle boiling with her wand. Satisfied that the water was hot enough, she poured it over the bags they had in a communal box. It wasn’t loose leaf, but it was enough for one person, and she would have drunk pond water at this point, she was so consumed with her thoughts. 

The Malfoys. Here, at the Ministry. And Hermione was sure that Lucius knew it was her that night at Erotes. At first, she wasn’t sure if he knew, the way he prowled around her, but when they were in that hallway, when he had confessed he knew he’d done terrible things to ‘her and her friends’… There was no doubt that Lucius knew it was Hermione. And that made facing him even more stomach churning.

What had he said? ‘I’ll be waiting’? The thought made her shudder.

Still, this was her job, and she couldn’t refuse. The Erotes Society, after all, maintained complete anonymity outside of their meetings. Why should the Leader of the Society be an exception?

No, Hermione would not give him the satisfaction of being flustered, or shirking her duties. So, with what little courage she could muster, Hermione cleared her throat, grabbed her mug of tea, and marched off towards the conference room. Through the glass walls of the conference room, Hermione made out two silver-headed figures in black tailored suits, Draco with a purple ascot, and Lucius with a silver one. The elder Malfoy stood a few inches over the younger, his figure impressive.

Hermione swallowed, set her jaw, and walked into the conference room, where the two men turned. Draco’s face was impassive, but Hermione noticed a look on Lucius’s face that displayed there for a millisecond. She couldn’t quite place it, but with his eyes darting down to Hermione’s body, then back up at her face, she could only guess.

“ _You_ ,” Draco said, his voice full of shock.

It wasn’t the acidic tone she had expected. Still, their presence offended, so she sighed. 

“Indeed, _me_ ,” Hermione said, setting her mug down on the wooden table, which looked as if it belonged in a banquet hall rather than a conference room. “I’m afraid I’m the only case worker who would take on a case of such… complexity.”

“Draco, we must take what we are given,” Lucius said, holding his hand out to be shaken by Hermione. Hermione’s eyebrows threatened to knit together, but Hermione held it together and extended her own hand for a terse handshake. Draco sighed, and did the same.

“Sit down, please,” Hermione said, choosing the head of the table, leaving Draco and Lucius to take the seats down the length of the table. Draco placed a well-made, black, soft sided leather briefcase on the table, which he then proceeded to open, and pull out papers for Hermione.

“Miss Granger, are you alright?” Lucius asked, his voice bordering on taunting. “You look a little pale.”

Hermione forced a smile, and smoothed a few baby hairs off her forehead. “I am alright, Mister Malfoy, just a headache.”

“We could always come back, when you are… ready,” his tone was flat.

Hermione took the papers that had been put in front of her. “No, Mister Malfoy, you have already waited a week to be seen by someone at the Ministry.” She looked at the papers. “So, Messer’s Malfoy, please tell me why you’re here today.” 

Lucius looked down on Hermione with a cold condescension that shocked Hermione. Was this the same man who had not a week before offered to take her to bed? If he indeed could separate his extra curricular activities and his work life, Hermione was impressed, if not a little frightened by what this meant about him as a person.

“Our company, though we have taken great pains to hide this fact over the years, utilizes and invests in Muggle technology. Purely a financial decision, I assure you.”

Hermione’s eyes opened wide. This was a surprise. The Malfoys, the most notorious of the prejudiced, pure blood wizarding families, was profiting from Muggle technology.

“Well, Mister Malfoy, this _is_ a surprise,” Hermione started, and began to look through the papers in front of her. “I hear that you wish to utilize mobiles. Please, tell me more about that." 

“Draco will be the one to explain _that_ to you,” Lucius said, arrogantly placing his arm on the back of his chair. “You see, Miss Granger, this is Draco’s endeavor, one that I will have no part in after today. Let us hope this gamble pays off.”

Hermione felt a pang of sympathy for Draco. She had seen the way his father badgered him in the past, and once or twice in their school days, it had occurred to Hermione that Draco might have been a foul git only because his father had indoctrinated him as such. Still, knowing that people like Sirius could reject their familial prejudices, Hermione’s sympathy only extended so far.

So, Draco drew himself up impressively, and cleared his throat. “Mobiles are a growing technology in the Muggle world,” he said, with less of the arrogant tone his father commanded. “It’s the twenty-first century now, and it looks as if they aren’t going away. I’ve long thought telephones could be adapted to fit the wizarding community, but wasn’t sure how until mobiles became more commonplace.”

Hermione smiled and hid a snigger. Draco had actually thought of such things? How very un-Malfoy of him. She quickly stifled her reaction as not to incense the elder Malfoy, whose eyes blazed a fierce blue at her reaction.

“Very well, _Mister Malfoy_ ,” Hermione said, addressing Draco. “But do you mean to completely replace the owl system? I think the Wizarding community would be hard pressed to do away with such an honored tradition.”

Lucius scoffed. “My thoughts exactly.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. Hermione, in her heart, welcomed the idea that the Wizarding community would start to advance technologically. She hated skirting both the Muggle community and the Wizarding community, and not being able to bridge the gap. Lucius’s attitude, though not surprising, only added insult to the fact that he was here, seeking her help. 

“I want you both to know that I will be taking this case very seriously, and we will find a solution that not only honors the Wizarding community, but brings it into the twenty-first century,” Hermione hoped this diplomacy would set the senior Malfoy at ease at this new venture.

Draco nodded. His eyes shifted sideways towards his father. He adopted a stern expression. “When can we begin this process, then, _Granger_?”

Hermione paused a moment, and read his tone. She new when Draco’s insults were genuine. This felt very much like showboating. She raised her eyebrows in amusement.

“Monday,” she said flatly. “This is my only case, so we will start at nine in the morning. I’ll take the weekend to look all this over,” she glanced down at the stack of papers, “and hopefully we can start sketching out a plan.”

“Very well,” Lucius said, standing abruptly, buttoning his tailored coat. Hermione, shocked that the meeting went so quickly, stood to match Lucius’s movements. Draco languidly followed. “I’ll return when the plan is laid out. I don’t want to be bothered with this until it’s done.” He left so quickly, Hermione’s mouth hung open. She hadn’t known what to expect from his visit.

Only, Draco stayed behind. They both watched Lucius walk away, office workers scattering as they saw him approaching. As they watched, Draco addressed Hermione in a way that utterly shocked her.

“Sorry,” he said, awkwardly. “He’s… never really liked to admit to anyone that we utilize Muggle technologies sometimes. I had to fight to get him to agree to let the company take on telephones.”

“Er…” Hermione stood gaping still. “ _You’re sorry_?”

This woke something in Draco, and he huffed. “See you on Monday, Granger,” he said, and skulked off in the same direction as his father, causing the same reaction among the Ministry workers.

Utterly bewildered at what she’d just gone through, Hermione scooped up the Malfoy Magical Technologies papers and her untouched tea, and walked to her desk, where she plopped down. Her vision started to blur a bit, and the light in the office seemed a bit too bright. Nausea finally gripped her, and she realized as it hit her like a ton of bricks—her tension headache was now a raging migraine.

Unable to cope any further with work, Hermione grabbed her things, and headed for the Floo network downstairs. She was sure if she stayed at work a minute longer, she would be sick. They could fire her for leaving early, but she knew they wouldn’t. In her haste to leave the Ministry, Hermione forgot to grab the case file.

* * *

 

Parvati and Hermione sat in a terse silence across from each other. It was a warm spring morning, and it seemed the perfect weather for brunch in Diagon Alley. The patio table held two mimosas.

“Am I going to have to beat it out of you?” Parvati asked finally, taking her drink in her hand.

“What exactly do you mean?” Hermione asked sarcastically.

“Merlin’s beard, Hermione, _how was it_? You haven’t responded to my owls all week, I have to know.”

“It wasn’t,” Hermione said, busying herself by drinking half her mimosa.

“Wasn’t what?” Parvati asked after a pause.

“It just _wasn’t_ , it didn’t happen,” Hermione said, not wishing to beleaguer the point any further.

“You didn’t go through with it?” Parvati shouted, drawing looks from other restaurant patrons. She lowered her voice. “Hermione, the Leader himself spoke up for you. And you rejected him?” Her eyes filled with dread.

“Well it doesn’t matter, because I’m not going again,” Hermione said. “I’m not getting into bed with that _snake_." 

Parvati grumbled, and adjusted her sunglasses. “You told me you would try it once. You didn’t even give it a chance.”

“Parvati, in case you have forgotten—I know you weren’t there for it, but you know— _that man sat by while I was tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange_. The things he did… Even _he_ says he knows they’re horrible, but that’s not exactly an apology.”

Parvati sighed. “Hermione… I don’t mean to be a bitch but…”

“Get over it?” Hermione asked, her eyes wild.

“No, but… Remember what the Society is? It’s anonymous. It doesn’t matter who you are. Your real identity doesn’t matter when you show up. I’m not saying he isn’t a horrible man, but look at what he’s done these past few years." 

“Smoke and mirrors, Parvati,” Hermione said, pouring more mimosa from the carafe on their table. “And no one else spoke up for me, so am I supposed to just take what I can get? That doesn’t seem very liberating.”

“Well,” Parvati said, chewing her lip. “Not that it matters now, but… I didn’t exactly get a chance to talk to you after your Naming.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up. She’d completely forgotten that part. “Yeah, what exactly was that? Why was my name such a big deal?”

“Well,” Parvati said, looking around at the other patio tables, trying to figure out if they were being eavesdropped on.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Hermione said, grabbing her wand. “ _Muffliato_. There, now no one can hear us. _Out with it_.”

“Persephone,” Parvati said, steeling herself with another sip of her mimosa. “There was another Persephone in the group before.”

“Yeah, and?”

“It was Narcissa,” Parvati blanched.

Hermione felt a pit form in her stomach. She didn’t want what she was thinking to be true, but she had to ask.

“Parvati, what is Lucius’s alias?”

Parvati was quiet a moment. “Hades.”

Hermione laughed breathily, and felt momentarily like crying. Hades, in Greek mythology, was the god of the underworld, and Persephone was his captive queen consort. “Oh, how fitting… What the fuck, Parvati? What does that mean?” 

Parvati looked perplexed. “I don’t know, I mean… Narcissa and Lucius alike were free to choose partners within the Society, but him choosing to give you that name was not lost on _anyone_.”

“But what does it _mean_?” Hermione pressed the point.

“I don’t know, ‘Mione! But it would certainly explain why none of the other council members spoke up for you. Maybe they didn’t want to… I don’t know, take that privilege away from him? Being your tutor.” 

“You say it like I’m a piece of property, Parvati. That’s sick!”

“Well,” Parvati said, shrugging. “People can get possessive with partners, it’s true. People have favorites. Blaise comes to me almost every time, but I’m always able to pick someone else. No one is going to prevent you from being with anyone else, Hermione. It’s just that for what ever reason, he wanted to be your tutor. It is a huge honor,” she added smally.

Hermione bristled a moment, but her curiosity got the better of her. “Have… _you_ ever? With him?”

Parvati sighed like she was a fifth year Hogwarts student again. “No, but I would. There’s kind of a hierarchy, and you normally let the council approach you. And from what I hear, Lucius is highly selective, but... well, to be blunt, he's not the Leader for nothing.” 

“Who does he usually, you know… ask?”

“Hermione, if you’re so curious about him, _just go_.”

Hermione reversed the _muffliato_ charm just as their brunch was being served to them. “If I even get another invitation. He was rather terse when he came into the Ministry yesterday.” 

Both Parvati and Hermione began picking away at their eggs benedict. “He’s not supposed to act any differently outside of the Society. Don’t take offense to that.”

“Well, he’s a ponce in real life, so _that_ I can take offense to on its own merit,” Hermione said, and the two girls laughed lightly.

Parvati opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t get a word out for being interrupted.

“Hermione?” a familiar voice came from behind her on the sidewalk. Hermione turned, and saw Harry, hand-in-hand with Ginny. Hermione smiled and stood to greet the two. 

“Harry! Ginny!” she hugged them both over the small railing that separated the patio seating of the restaurant and the greater part of the sidewalk. “What are you all doing here?” 

“Just went for a film,” Harry said, his smile oddly staged. “That new business that just started showing Muggle films? It’s actually getting a bit popular. Hi Parvati!”

Parvati inclined her head in greeting. 

“Oh yeah, what did you see?” Hermione asked, looking from one friend to the other.

“Er,” Ginny said, grabbing onto Harry’s arm with her free hand. “What was it? The Godfather?”

Hermione smiled and laughed. “Bit of a classic, I’d say.”

Harry and Ginny nodded, and the three of them stood there. Hermione had been growing apart from Harry and Ginny after her breakup with Ron, but it was still a fresh wound. She knew she would always find her way back to Harry and Ginny, but something about this meeting felt off to her. 

“Everything alright, guys?” she asked, hopeful.

“Yeah—Hermione,” Harry started, in a way Hermione knew was about to be a bit of a blow, “please don’t be upset but we’ve just been to the theatre with… Ron.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, her smile now growing painful. “Yes, of course, I mean… You can’t stop being friends with him just because of, you know…”

“Right,” Ginny said, speaking up. “But there’s the thing, Hermione—“

“Alright then, I’m starving, where’s lunch?” Ron’s familiar drawl came up from around the corner, but what Hermione saw shocked her to her core.

Ron’s arm was draped casually over Romilda Vane’s shoulders, and the two of them appeared to be all over each other. Hermione felt as if she had been punched in the gut.

“Hermione, I’m so, so sorry,” Harry said, not knowing how to explain himself.

 “I cannot _fucking_ believe this,” Hermione said, her eyes filling with tears. She refused to blink, lest they fall. 

Ron’s face fell, and he promptly removed his arm from around Romilda. Romilda, on the other hand, looked at Hermione like her face had just sprouted hundreds of pustules. 

Hermione scraped her chair back over the cobblestones, grabbing her purse as she made to leave. Parvati snapped to attention, and dug in her pocket for a handful of galleons, which she promptly dropped on the table.

“Hermione, please, we don’t want there to be any bad blood between any of us,” Ginny pleaded as Hermione made her way around the tables so she could walk out onto the sidewalk and away from her friends who had dealt her such an insulting blow. 

“Hermione, we just want to get along with everyone,” Harry said, his face fallen and full of sadness.

Hermione reached them in the sidewalk and paused a moment. “I can understand staying friends with him, Harry, I really can,” Hermione said. “I did after all think I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. I did love him. But what I can’t forgive, Harry, is cavorting with that…” Hermione clenched her jaw, and it was Parvati’s presence at her side that steeled her.

“What I can’t forgive is cavorting with that _whore_.” She laughed to herself pitifully, and finally tears fell. Parvati followed in Hermione’s wake as she made her way down Diagon Alley, leaving her best friends behind her.

Once the two of them had rounded the corner, Hermione chanced a glance back, and Parvati looked at Hermione to allow her to decide what to do next (sometimes the best way to support a friend is to say nothing, Parvati reasoned).

Hermione reached into her purse, of course bewitched with the same spells as her old beaded bag from the Horcrux hunt, and grabbed a vial. Without a word, she put her wand to her temple, and pulled out a silvery web of a memory, and placed it into the vial. As she did so, she realized her hands were shaking.

 “Right,” Hermione said, nodding, and thinking a moment as she put a stopper on the vial before putting it back in her purse. She never wanted to forget this feeling. If she needed to, she would place the memory in her Pensieve. “You say the letters come at eight in the evening every Saturday, right?”

Parvati’s face lit up, and she squealed in delight, throwing her arms around Hermione.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay kids. It's been almost a year since I updated. Color me sorry. It's been a crazy year. I got a new job, have been remodeling my house since March, and got a new puppy. It's been a bit crazy. But my new resolution is to finish all my fanfics before the new year! I have seen ALL of your awesome comments, and I never forgot this little story. I don't know how long I'll make it, but I have lots of great plot points in mind. I hope you will come back and lend your thoughts on this far-fetched but guilty pleasure read!

Hermione sat on her couch, her legs curled up to the side, as she tried in vain to distract herself with a book. She was kicking herself for not bringing her case files home, but she resigned herself to taking a trip to the Ministry Sunday morning for the files. The thought of coming to her meeting with Draco unprepared was more than enough to cause her more stress. She allowed herself to be manic and emotional insomuch as it got her to wait for her Erotes letter to arrive. She wouldn’t, however, allow herself to become so emotional about encountering Ron all over Romilda that she became lax in her professional obligations.

And then, of course, there was the fact that she would have to face Lucius Malfoy with full knowledge of the fact that she would be working with his son, and by extension him. So of course she wanted to do a good job.

And every time she began to slip towards feeling nervous, or feeling like she was going to just chuck her black letter into the fireplace, she held onto the hate-fire within herself, and used it as fuel. If Ron could screw around with the girl he’d cheated on Hermione with, if he could do something so low, so off-limits, Hermione could do this. Hermione could sleep with the most loathsome man in her working knowledge of the Wizarding community.

But, no one would know about it. Or, rather, if they did, they would be silent on the matter. She had no idea what the repercussions were of revealing the activities of the Erotes Society, but she knew it had to be something, otherwise it would have been more widely known. So, she settled for her own satisfaction, knowing that she was getting her own petty revenge. Parvati had said as much.

Ron might not know that Hermione was in a secret society that engaged in anonymous sex, but she knew that everything else in her life would fall in line once she finally went back to Erotes.

Or she hoped.

A lot rode on tonight. So, she took great pains for a few hours doing all the things she tried her hardest to spread throughout the weeks as they went by—using a tub of Sleekeazy’s, shaving her legs and other things generally viewed as tedious but necessary. She really never was in the habit of doing one big day’s worth of “preening” as she called it, while she was with Ron.

Maybe that’s why he strayed, but still, Ron was no peach either. He had put on weight since leaving Hogwarts, and was a lazy lover. Yet Hermione had stayed faithful. She hadn’t even had a wandering eye.

When finally the time had whittled down, and it was eight o’clock, Hermione stood by her open window of her flat, waiting for the owl that would be bringing her letter. She was already dressed in the lingerie that Parvati had provided her (Agent Provocateur she had later learned), wrapped in her cloak, with her mask in her pocket, but no one needed to know how eager she was.

So it was rather distressing that fifteen after eight, Hermione had still not received her Erotes letter disclosing the location of the meeting. Would she get one at all?

She stood clutching the windowsill until eight forty-five, when finally, a snowy owl came bearing a black letter in its talons. Hermione caught it eagerly, and broke open the golden seal on the back. When she opened the letter, she got what she was hoping for.

Erotes Society

9 PM tonight

Ashford Castle

Cong, County Mayo, Ireland

Hermione dropped the letter on the console table under her window, and with a final adjustment to her cloak, and putting on her partial mask, she Disapparated to Ashford Castle.

When her feet met the grass in Ireland, she was shocked to see an even more impressive castle than the last. Erotes wasn’t a subtle group, that much was sure. This one had to have been built prior to the twelfth century, if she knew her historical architecture. What struck Hermione besides the impressive architecture, was that there were no other witches or wizards Apparating onto the lawn. There were lights coming from most of the windows of the castle, so she assumed she was late. She didn’t want to know what this would mean for her chances of finding a partner, but nonetheless she walked quickly inside.

Much like last time, she followed the sounds of the pre-party, and found witches and wizards drinking and talking casually. It still was about five to nine, so Hermione had not yet missed the pairings.

Without Parvati beside her, Hermione felt insecure, and her ears prickled every time she made eye contact with a masked witch or wizard. Their eyes registered recognition, yet none approached her as yet. She would have taken this as a bad sign, but she _had_ received an invitation after all. A delayed invitation, but she’d gotten one nonetheless.

Hermione occupied herself by snatching a glass of champagne off a passing platter. She never normally drank much (mimosas for brunch, and champagne at dinner), but tonight she felt she needed the bolstering. She wasn’t quite finished with her glass, when she heard the knocking that she heard the last time, and saw the council enter the hall. All grew silent.

The council members made their way through the crowd this time. There were no announcements made, there were no new pledges. The council members began making their propositions, all of which were met with smiles and nods. Hermione felt foolish there, watching as the council chose their partners, when her eyes landed on the unmistakable figure of Lucius Malfoy in his black mask and robe. The murmur of the crowd died down as Lucius sidled up to Hermione with a cocksure smile on his face. They all watched in rapture as Lucius leaned his head down to whisper into Hermione’s ear.

“Do you want this?” He asked, his voice a low rumble. Hermione could smell his spicy scent, a mix of cologne and who knew what else.

Hermione’s heart pounded (how long had it been beating that fast?). She tried to speak, but her vocal cords were too dry, so she swallowed, and made another attempt.

“Yes.” She looked up at his grey eyes that shone through his mask. His smile was wicked, and he put his hand on her waist, drawing her even closer, and kissing her gently. The kiss was so gentle she could not believe that it was Lucius Malfoy who was actually kissing her. When he was content with Hermione’s flustered reaction, he took her by the hand, and silently began leading her towards a hallway. He said nothing to the crowd, and they all took this as a sign that they were free to mingle and disperse.

Hermione seemed to float to the room that Lucius led her to. When they were safely behind it, Hermione was shaken from her stupor when she heard the clack of the door locking. She turned to the door and saw Lucius standing there. He approached Hermione, and put his hood back. He kept her gaze as he pushed hers back as well. He ran his fingers through her smooth hair, smirking at how he could run his fingers all the way through without getting his fingers caught.

Hermione’s heart still pounded, and she closed her eyes in contentment at the gesture. She snapped out of it though when Lucius’s fingers touched her mask, and made to remove it.

Her hands shot up and grabbed Lucius’s wrists, and it was then that she realized she had never touched Lucius on her own—he’d only ever touched her.

He removed his own, and tossed it onto a nearby armoire.

“We don’t need these in here,” he said, returning to her mask, and pulling it off, though she was reluctant.

When her face was completely exposed, Hermione flushed deep pink, and looked eye level at Lucius’s chest. He then made quick work of unclasping her cloak, and pushed it off her shoulders. He made a light fist, and tilted her chin up with his knuckles, causing her to have to look into his eyes.

He held her hazel gaze, and watched in admiration as she breathed heavily, and trembled under his touch.

“Why did you come back?” he asked.

Hermione pulled from her memory the sight of Ron and Romilda. She took a deep, steadying breath.

“Everything I said last time still remains.”

He smiled even broader, and brought his lips down to the side of her neck, which he kissed lightly. “But why did you come _back_?”

“Because I want this. I _need_ it.” Hermione, emboldened by her own words, reached up and took Lucius’s cloak off, which fell away as hers did. He, however, was dressed in a long sleeved, black knit shirt. She splayed her hands out over his broad chest.

“I hate you,” she said, her eyes full of fire. She said it in a matter-of-fact way, still running her hands over Lucius’s chest, running them down to his midsection.

“I know,” he said, leaning down, grabbing her waist, and kissing her passionately. Instinctively, Hermione drew her arms around Lucius’s shoulders. When he had kissed her thoroughly, he pulled back for air, and rounded on her so he stood behind her, his body pressed into her back. He guided her arms up so that they linked around his neck, lacing in his silver hair. He spread his hands over her exposed stomach.

He pressed her hips back into his, and he kissed the back of her neck, which caused Hermione to give a small cry.

“Now,” he said, speaking while his hands went to work caressing her body from behind, first cupping her breasts, then running his hands down her waist, pausing at her hips, pulling her back into him. Hermione could feel he was already hard. “I pride myself on my adherence to our rules. I will be the one to teach you these rules. At least the first few times, I’ll have you.”

Hermione felt breathless. Without anything to say, she nodded in understanding, her hands still tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“My first rule is consent. You have to want this. If at any time, you don’t want me to do something, I want you to tell me to stop. Can you do that, Persephone?”

Hermione’s eyes snapped open when he used her pseudonym. She was still a moment.

“Yes,” she said. Somehow, hearing _Persephone_ , not _Hermione_ , made this easier.

“Perhaps later, if circumstances dictate, we will have a word that means ‘stop’. But for now, ‘stop’ will do. And before we get to ‘stop’, if you feel nervous about anything, but still want me to do it, say ‘slow’.”

Hermione nodded again.

Lucius pulled Hermione’s arms down, and spun her around gently, looking down at her with a tenderness that stirred her core. He ran the back of his finger down her chin.

“But I don’t think you’ll be telling me to slow down or stop tonight,” Lucius said, but his tone was gentle. “I intend to make love to you tonight,” he said, and Hermione’s stomach flipped. He leaned down, and put his lips to her ears, and whispered barely loud enough for her to hear. “But eventually, I’ll be giving you a good fucking.”

Hermione’s breath escaped her raggedly, and she could feel wetness in her designer lingerie.

Lucius smirked, and put his lips on Hermione’s, drawing her into a deep, and passionate kiss. They stood that way a few moments, with Lucius’s hands on her waist, and Hermione’s arms around his shoulders, kissing and getting to know each others’ mouths.

When Lucius felt satisfied, he moved his hands down to Hermione’s bottom.

“Hold onto me,” he said, giving her a second’s warning. He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her backwards, placing her gently onto the bed.

Lucius backed up, and left Hermione there, watching from atop the plush comforter as he slowly removed her shoes, followed by the stockings he unclipped and pulled off her legs.

He knelt between her legs, and leaned down to kiss her chest, just below the hollow of her collarbones. He hooked a few fingers under one strap. “The clasp,” he said simply, and Hermione reached behind to undo her clasp. He pulled it off, and it joined the ever-growing pile of undergarments.

He looked down at her bare chest, and smiled to himself. “Perfect,” he said, planting soft kisses on them, deepening them on her nipples to bring them to attention. “I always knew they would be.”

Hermione’s breath escaped her in disbelief. How long had Lucius Malfoy been thinking about how her breasts looked? It disturbed her, but it disturbed her more how much it excited her.

His kisses had grown deeper, and in a few moments, Hermione’s nipples had grown hard and sensitive. He sensed that his work was done, and crept further down the bed, kissing her hipbones, and hooking his fingers into her panties.

He tugged these off himself, and tossed them to meet everything else on the floor. Hermione kept her knees together, unable to bare herself to him completely yet. He smiled in understanding, and stood, backing up a step before pulling the black knit shirt he wore off, starting his own pile on the floor.

Hermione swallowed involuntarily—he was extraordinarily fit for a man in his forties. Her eyes went momentarily to where the Dark Mark used to burn so blackly. Where it should have been, there now was a mass of scars. Hermione knew those kind of scars could only have been made by magic. They were white, and smooth, and Hermione knew they must have been very painful. Her mouth opened a moment at the implication that Lucius Malfoy had burned off his own Dark Mark, but when she realized what she was doing, she closed her mouth before Lucius could notice.

He made eye contact with her as he kicked off his shoes, and undid his belt simultaneously. In one motion, he took off everything, and kicked the rest of his clothes aside. He stood there, completely naked in front of Hermione, allowing her to take in the sight of him.

Her heart beat furiously as her eyes went down his chest, and settled on the small thatch of golden hair, and the length of him, so hard and he had barely touched her.

After a beat, he broke the silence. “Now show me,” he said. He’d allowed her to watch him undress, only to help her nervousness at being exposed to him abate.

Hermione felt like her breath had been stolen from her, and in a moment of sheer bravery, she opened her legs, and let him take in the sight of her.

His jaw flexed, and without being able to hold on any longer, Lucius closed the gap between them, and he was kneeling between her legs. He slid his hands under her back a moment, and hoisted her further up the bed. Hermione let out a small cry at this unexpected act. When she had settled, Lucius had already lowered himself to settle between her legs, throwing each of them over his shoulders.

He held her gaze as he placed small, exploratory kisses on her thighs, on either side of her sex.

“Remember—you can always tell me to stop,” he said. He paused above her sex, and when Hermione nodded, he smiled the wicked smile she knew so well, and brought his mouth down on her.

She let out a small cry, and he chuckled into her, bringing his tongue up her sides, flicking her clitoris gently and teasingly each time. He built into the pressure, and began circling the sensitive tissue. Hermione began tilting her hips up to meet him, and at this, Lucius sighed in satisfaction. Satisfied in how things were progressing, Lucius brought the hand that wasn’t hooked around her thigh to her opening, and gently pressed one finger into her.

She whimpered, and her hand shot to his silver hair. He smiled into her, and pressed a second into her, settling in to a rhythm. He curved his fingers up, and brushed a spot inside her Hermione had never felt before. Her eyes shot open, and her other hand gripped the comforter.

Unable to contain herself, Hermione could feel the room crackling with magic. She had always been fairly adept at wandless magic, but Hermione had never given off this kind of natural magic. Literal sparks flew from the candles lit around the room, and when she realized what she was doing, she shut her eyes and forced herself to breathe steadily.

She breathed her way further towards the precipice, and finally she came, harder and longer than she ever had before. She had come so hard, that when she finally had ridden the wave of her orgasm to the bottom, she pushed him away, too sensitive to endure any more pleasure. He chuckled and looked up at her in amusement.

“You really are an incredible witch,” he said, and began climbing up to her mouth. He kissed her as she panted, and Hermione could taste herself on his lips.

He kissed her sweetly while she recovered, and he smiled to himself when he felt her hand wrap around him. She had put her hand between them, and was stroking the length of him.

He shook his head and chuckled. “I’m going to break one of my rules… just this once.”

Hermione’s eyes shot open, and she looked at him.

“I’m only the second, am I right?” he asked. He meant asking about things that happened outside of the bedroom they occupied.

Hermione nodded, and Lucius seemed to delight in this knowledge.

Emboldened by him relishing in this knowledge, Hermione decided to stroke his ego further. “And the biggest, apparently,” she said with a smirk, looking down at what she held.

His eyebrow cocked at her, leveling her with a look. It said ‘I know what you’re doing, but I still like it’.

She felt at the bead that had formed at his head, and brought her finger to her tongue, tasting him. Lucius smiled, showing his teeth in the process. At his smile, she realized what she had done, and her shock registered on her face.

Lucius pulled forward, forcing Hermione to let go of him, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, preparing herself for what would come next.

He paused at her entrance, and positioned his hips so the length of him ran over her slick folds. He groaned breathily at the contact. Hermione tilted her hips into him each time, hoping to catch him at just the right angle to end her misery.

Sensing this, Lucius repositioned, and paused at her entrance. He feigned thrusting a few times, and Hermione whimpered in protest.

“Do you want it?” Lucius whispered against her lips as he kissed her.

Hermione nodded.

“Say it,” he said. He wanted to hear her say it.

“Please,” Hermione said, sincerely. That was all he needed to hear, and he thrust forward, burying in her completely, causing her to cry out and dig her nails into his back. She held them there, not deep enough to hurt him, but enough that he was aware she was doing it.

She moaned and mewled as she adjusted to the size of him, and was beckoning him to move as she ground her hips around. Without asking a second time, Lucius began to thrust into Hermione gently, but firmly. He grunted when he felt how tightly she held him inside her.

Lucius lifted himself onto his forearms, taking some of his weight off Hermione, and looked down between them, at their joining. At the change of position, Hermione came, and held onto Lucius’s shoulders. Lucius was not far behind, and came inside her. He continued to thrust into her until he was completely spent. Afterward, he stayed inside her a moment.

The two of them panted, and Lucius kissed Hermione sweetly, intermittently, until they both had come down from their high. When he had recovered enough, he pulled out, and got up from the bed. He walked into the bathroom, and Hermione heard water flowing. After a moment, he returned with a wet towel, and handed it to her.

He laid on his side beside her, propping his head up on his hand. He watched her as she cleaned the evidence of him from between her legs. When she had finished, Lucius held out his free hand for her, and took it, which he promptly tossed onto the floor.

Hermione watched him, and contemplated what the hell had just happened between them. She laid there, looking at the last person in the world she thought she would sleep with. He wasn’t a selfish lover. He was responsive. Hermione had tried to stifle the word as it came to her mind, but she came to it all the same—perfect. She thrilled at the thought of how wrong she might have been about Lucius Malfoy. As she lay there, she stared at the scar she had noticed before, the one on the arm that supported his head. The scar that had formerly been the Dark Mark.

He caught her staring, and looked down at it before returning his head to its position.

“Wasn’t painless, I can tell you that,” he said, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Why’d you do it?” she asked.

Lucius gave a half smirk. “That’s another rule, Persephone,” Lucius said, putting a wall up where there hadn’t been five minutes ago. “The outside world doesn’t come into this room with us.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest—he had asked her about Ron before. But he had said he was breaking a rule…

He shushed her, and kissed her forehead. “All of that in time,” he said, and tugged at the bedclothes underneath them, coaxing Hermione under the covers. She gladly accepted the warmth, and settled under the blankets and sheets. Lucius slid in beside her, pulling her to his warm body in a surprisingly tender gesture.

Hermione was overcome with a sudden feeling of discomfort. She wondered if he wanted her there still, so she erred on the side of caution. “I’ve got to get things done tomorrow—” Hermione started to protest, but Lucius again stopped her.

“Well _tonight_ you don’t,” he said, pulling her to him, resting his chin on the top of her head as he held her. “If I can help it, this is one of _my_ rules… When we are together, we stay the night. I can’t tell you what to do, but for any of this to do either of us any good—”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to interrupt _him_.

“I’ll stay,” she said, and that was that. He smiled up at the ceiling. Hermione listened to his heart beat in his chest, and she was struck with momentary shock at what the hell she had done tonight. Growing too tired to think about it, Hermione’s eyes felt weighted, and she struggled to stay awake.

Too tired to find her wand, Hermione dug deep within herself and uttered a bit of wordless magic.

“Nox,” she muttered, taking the light from the room.

The two of them were silent a moment.

“Now you’re just showing off,” Lucius muttered sleepily into the darkness.

Hermione giggled into his chest.


End file.
